


Cheek to Cheek

by Pippin



Series: Christmas Presents 2015 [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Dancing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:44:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5341241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippin/pseuds/Pippin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I seem to find the happiness I seek when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheek to Cheek

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gigantichounds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantichounds/gifts).



> I can't believe I wrote 3,000 words so soon after NaNoWriMo ended. I thought I was going to take a break after writing those 50,000 in November to win. Apparently not.

It had been seventy years and that feeling still hadn’t gone away.  If anything, Steve realized, it had just gotten stronger.  He wasn’t sure if it was a case of “absence makes the heart grow fonder” or that the feeling was now legal or what.  It didn’t really matter.  The reason changed nothing.

He was completely, entirely, and irrevocably in love with Bucky Barnes.

It didn’t matter that Bucky was so different now.  It didn’t matter that he preferred to be called James (although he did still let Steve call him Bucky), or that he refused to cut his hair or shave very often, that Steve had to coax him to eat solid food, that he forgot to shower sometimes, or that the few nights he slept he was woken by terrible nightmares.  He was still Steve’s Bucky.  And it wasn’t like Steve was the same person he had been seventy years ago, either.  It wasn’t the size—he wasn’t the same person he had been post-serum but pre-ice.  The future had changed them both to the point where Steve wasn’t sure what, if anything, was left of who they had once been.

It hadn’t changed how much Steve loved Bucky.  He was completely head over heels for his best friend, and there was no way he could tell him that.  There was no way in heaven or hell that Bucky felt the same way, and while Steve felt that their friendship could survive a declaration of love, he didn’t want to pressure Bucky.

Besides, Bucky was straight.  Steve could remember all the many, many times that Bucky had taken some girl or another dancing, but he had always turned a blind eye to the number of queer bars and dances—the ones that Steve had slipped off to once he was sure that Bucky was gone for the evening.  It wouldn’t do for him to be knowing that his best friend was a queer.  Steve had long since come to terms with his own perversions in finding men just as attractive as women—and it didn’t matter that it was now legal and more or less open; he couldn’t shake the attitudes of the time he had grown up in—but he didn’t need to share them with Bucky.  Absolutely not.

So he had to content himself with going back to the way it had been before the war.  Of course Bucky was living with him; that had been how it always was.  Besides, as literally _everyone_ , Bucky included, had pointed out, there was no way that Bucky would be able to live on his own.  He was barely functional some days even with Steve there to keep an eye on him, to be honest.

Steve thought that he was, for the most part, doing a marvelous job pretending that his feelings towards Bucky were no more than brotherly at most.  There were times, however, when Bucky severely tested his resolve.

For one, he had started wearing his hair up in this ridiculous bun.  He refused to cut it—Steve thought that maybe he was afraid to let anyone near him with sharp objects after everything Hydra had done—but it was constantly in his face.  After he had taken to swearing harshly in Russian every time it ended up in his eyes or mouth, Natasha had taught him how to pull it back.  Steve had seen other men wearing their hair like that and had always thought that it looked ridiculous, but he had to admit that it was completely endearing on Bucky.

Now that it was getting colder, Steve realized that Bucky’s wardrobe needed supplementing.  He had nothing except jeans and t-shirts and one ragged sweatshirt that he had been wearing when Steve and Sam had found him.  Steve kept meaning to buy Bucky more clothes, but it seemed that something had always come up.

The problem was that Bucky, much like Steve, hated being cold.  They had both spent far too much time in ice to be able to tolerate it, even though their own versions of the serum kept them fairly warm.  They were just incredibly sensitive to being cold.  But Steve hadn’t realized just how much of a problem Bucky not having any winter clothes was going to become.

He had been out to lunch with Sam and Natasha, something that they tried to do at least once a month.  It was December, and it was starting to get bitterly cold, reminding Steve, again, that he needed to buy Bucky warmer clothes and a good coat.  But he didn’t want to go without Bucky, so he decided to wait.

The TV was on when Steve entered the apartment, meaning that Bucky was present enough to talk to Steve.  Sometimes he seemed just like his former self and would go out with Steve and his friends, but then there were also days on end where he wouldn’t come out of his room or let Steve in, and he had been like that for the past few days.  It was nice to see that he was out again.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve called as he shut and locked the door behind him.  He had no doubt that Bucky already knew that he was there, but it never heard to reiterate that.

There was no reply, but that was hardly a surprise.  Bucky usually only talked when he could see the other person face to face, so Steve entered the living room and froze.

Bucky was curled up against one arm of the couch, wearing his favorite beat-up jeans.  That was normal.  Everything else, though, was abnormal.

The woolen socks were ones that Tony had given him as a joke the first Christmas after New York, when anything and everything to do with the Avengers had been huge.  Steve hadn’t been sure whether to be amused or embarrassed at the navy blue socks with his shield logo on them.  It had helped that Tony had gotten everyone their own pair, even finding the hard to come by Black Widow and Hawkeye ones, but all the same Steve wasn’t used to anything like that.  The socks weren’t really the part that caught Steve’s attention, though.

Bucky was also wearing Steve’s favorite sweater, a thick blue-grey cable knit thing that felt like wearing a blanket.  It fit Steve perfectly, and he was bigger than Bucky, so Bucky was completely enveloped in it.  He had his nose nuzzled into the collar and the sleeves pulled down over his hands, and he looked absolutely adorable.  Steve’s brain short-circuited for a moment.

“Is that mine?” he ended up asking, despite knowing the answer full well.

Bucky shrugged, eyes meeting Steve’s and not letting them go.  “It was cold, and this is warm.”

In a great show of support for his best friend or courage or whatever, Steve left the room.  He knew that if he stayed any longer he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to kiss the hell out of Bucky, and he just couldn’t do that.

* * *

He could tell when he woke up that Steve was gone.  It wasn’t like Steve was intentionally loud, Hydra had just trained Bucky to be alert and aware of his surroundings, and he was always aware of Steve anyway, could practically hear him breathing if they were in the same apartment.  He had always been tuned to Steve, anyway, back when he was small and Bucky had to know if that hitch in his breath was going to kill him or not, or something like that.  He still wasn’t entirely sure.

So yeah, Bucky could tell that Steve wasn’t in the apartment.  This wasn’t uncommon, so it wasn’t a cause for concern.  There was probably a note on the counter, even though Bucky hadn’t left the room in days.  Steve was thoughtful like that.

Carefully, he crept out of his room.  Sure enough, Steve had left him a note.  _Went to lunch/brunch/whatever it’s called with Sam and Natasha.  Don’t know what time I’ll be back._

Bucky set the note down, shivering slightly.  Winter was coming fast, and he could feel the chill in the apartment.  He hated being cold—it brought back far too many unpleasant memories. 

The problem was that he had nothing to do about it.  Sure, he could make himself a blanket mountain to burrow under, but then he had limited mobility if anything happened.  That wasn’t likely, but he liked to be prepared.  But Bucky had no warm clothing, so he was at a loss as to what to do.

Then he figured it out.  He could combine being warm _and_ being safe, and raid Steve’s closet.  After all, Steve had been living an actual life in this time period a lot longer than Bucky had, so he had to have warm clothes, and nothing meant safety and home more than Steve.  Nothing.  ~~He wasn’t sure where his feelings towards Steve fit into the equation, but he couldn’t think about that.  It wasn’t like Steve, perfect Steve, America’s golden boy, would ever fall in love with a fucked up former assassin who had completely worked against everything Captain America stood for.~~

Having made up his mind and after pulling on his jeans, Bucky slipped into Steve’s room.  He didn’t think that the other would mind all that much, since Steve always said that he trusted Bucky.

The first thing to look for was socks.  Those would be in a drawer, something in his mind said, so Bucky started rifling through drawers.  Luckily for his very cold toes, socks were in the top drawer.  He grabbed a pair of plain white ones first, but then a hint of blue caught his eye.  When he grabbed the socks, he could tell that he had made the right choice, even before he could fully see them.  When he could see them, it was even better.

They felt so, so warm, and the fact that they were covered in Steve’s shield made it even better.  Bucky was going to be wearing an integral part of Steve.  He liked that idea. 

Next, he turned to the closet.  Steve had a small collection of sweaters, though Bucky hadn’t seen him wearing any yet.  He couldn’t remember Steve in sweaters since they were still in grade school, though, so he was surprised that Steve had any at all.

He ran his right hand along the sweaters, trying to decide which one he wanted.  When he got to the grey one, he froze.  It was the softest thing he had ever touched (besides Steve’s skin, his mind unhelpfully supplied, before he remembered that he wasn’t allowed to touch that), and he knew instantly that he was stealing it.

It was more comfortable than he could have imagined.  The ends of the sleeves reached just past his fingertips, and the sweater smelled so much like Steve that Bucky almost wanted to cry.

He didn’t cry, though, just slipped out into the living room and flipped through what was on TV.  Some history show on the Civil Rights Movement caught his eye and he left that on, curling up in his favorite place on the couch to watch it.

Some time later, the soft catch of a key in the lock caught Bucky’s attention, but he didn’t move.  He knew that it was Steve.  No one else had a key, after all.

“Hey, Buck,” he heard Steve say, but didn’t answer.  He didn’t need to.  Steve already knew that he was there.

He did, however, look up when Steve entered the room.  Anything he had been planning on saying died in his throat at the look on Steve’s face.  His eyes were fixed on Bucky—his outfit, more specifically—and Bucky tried not to show how worried he was.

“Is that mine?” Steve asked finally.

That was a dumb question, and they both knew it.  As if it could belong to anyone else.

In a show of fake nonchalance, Bucky shrugged. “It was cold, and this is warm.”

Steve turned and left, and Bucky tried not to break down.  He had fucked up.  He had fucked up big time and now Steve couldn’t even be in the same room as him.  That was worse than the cold.

Bucky pulled the sweater off and went to find Steve.  When he found him, he held out the sweater.  “I’m sorry, Stevie.”

Steve shook his head.  “You can hang on to it.  I just wasn’t expecting that, is all.  And you l—” He cut himself off, staring intently at his clasped hands.  Bucky looked at him curiously, but didn’t ask what he was going to say.

“Oh!”  Steve looked up suddenly.  “I almost forgot.  Tony asked us to come to some club or another tonight.  It’ll be him, Pepper, Natasha, Clint, and Sam.  It’s up to you whether or not you want to go, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

Bucky took a deep breath.  Going out really didn’t sound all that bad at the moment, and maybe it would distract him from Steve’s reaction to the whole sweater fiasco.

“Okay, I’ll come.  But I don’t have anything to wear.”

“We could go shopping now,” Steve said slowly.  Then his mouth pulled up at one side impishly.  “Or you could just wear more of my clothes.”

Bucky punched him.

* * *

Steve wasn’t sure how to feel about Bucky having chosen to go shopping.  On one hand, Steve didn’t have to deal with the constant temptation that was how absolutely  _sinful_ Bucky had looked in that sweater, despite simultaneously being completely adorable.  On the other, Bucky had fallen in love with a pair of black skinny jeans, and they made his ass look fantastic.  Steve was trying not to stare, but it was a losing battle.

And then Natasha pulled Bucky out to dance and Steve gave up.  Bucky had always been a natural dancer, and apparently time and changing dance styles hadn’t taken that away from him.

After a few songs Bucky fell into the seat beside Steve, laughing and sipping from the glass Natasha had shoved into his hand.  Steve was torn between jealous and ecstatic.  He hadn’t seen Bucky this relaxed and carefree since that last night before he had left for England, but it also wasn’t because of him.  _He_ wanted to be the one to make Bucky that happy.

“What are you drinking?” he asked.

Bucky glanced at the glass in his hand and shrugged.  “Nat gave it to me.  It’s a combination of some various things—she said that she’s testing my metabolism.  I think whatever this is will come out on top…”  He frowned.  “It’s a funny feeling.  Not bad, just funny.”

Steve’s chance to reply was cut off by an abrupt change in the music.  It was one that both he and Bucky recognized. 

“Fred Astaire,” Bucky said, beaming.  “ _Cheek to Cheek_.  Come on, Stevie, come dance with me.”

Steve frowned.  “You know that I can’t dance, Buck.”

“It’s about damn time you learned,” Bucky said definitively, setting his glass down firmly.  “I will physically drag you onto the dance floor if I have to, Rogers.”

Steve sighed.  “Fine.”  He took the hand Bucky was offering him and followed his best friend onto the dance floor.

He was trying so hard not to freak out, though not for the reason that Bucky would think.  He would figure out how to dance, and it wasn’t like he could hurt Bucky just by stepping on his toes.  The problem lay in the fact that he had no idea how he was supposed to not kiss Bucky through all this. 

Bucky carefully wrangled the two of them into position, his metal hand firm on the small of Steve’s back.

“Why have you gotta lead?” Steve complained, more joking than not.

“Because I’m the one who knows what the hell I’m doing.  Now shut up and follow my lead.”

_Heaven, I’m in heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak._

Steve tore his glance away from their feet just to look up into Bucky’s piercing eyes mere inches from his own.

Bucky muttered something in Russian.  Steve had started learning the language from Natasha when Bucky had moved in with him and would come out of his nightmares unable to speak English, but he was still far from fluent.  He only caught something about doing and what might have been “stupid.”

That didn’t take his mind to good places at all.

_And I seem to find the happiness I seek when we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek._

Steve was so preoccupied on what Bucky had said—had it been about his dancing?  Oh god, it had been about his dancing—that he didn’t notice that his and Bucky’s faces were getting closer.  In fact, he didn’t notice anything at all until their lips were touching.

Steve jumped away from Bucky like he had been burned.  There was no way that _Bucky_ could have kissed _Steve_ , so he must have subconsciously done it or something.  That was the worst thing that he could have possibly done.

His face was on fire and he was babbling something about being sorry when Bucky cut in.

“What are you sorry for?”

“I kissed you, didn’t I?”

Bucky looked exasperated.  “No, you didn’t.  I’m the one who should be sorry, seeing as I kissed you.  Clearly I shouldn’t have done it, from _that_ reaction.”

Steve shook his head.  “No, you should definitely get over here and kiss me again.”

Bucky arched an eyebrow, and Steve sighed.

“I’ve wanted to do that for years now, and especially when I walked in to you wearing my sweater today.  So I thought that I had kissed you since I wasn’t paying attention to not kissing you, and that you would hate me or something.”

“What is it they say?” Bucky asked slowly as he sidled closer to Steve with a smirk.  “Actions speak louder than words?”

Before Steve could answer, Bucky was kissing him again, and he was kissing back, and everything was perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as the first of several oneshots that I am writing for my friends as Christmas presents. This one is for the lovely Elly, and she requested Bucky with a bun, Bucky wearing Steve's clothes, sharing an apartment, and dancing except I sort of changed that part from her original request because this all just flowed. Sorry about that, Elly, but I hope you enjoy anyway!


End file.
